


Dance Fever

by Brate



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Humor, Case Fic, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-03
Updated: 2011-09-03
Packaged: 2017-10-23 09:33:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/248823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brate/pseuds/Brate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is cursed and it's up to Sam to save him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dance Fever

"Come on, jackass. It's a freakin' four-way stop not _Sophie's Choice_." Dean Winchester growled with impatience, gripping the steering wheel tighter.

"Relax, Dean, we're not in that much of a hurry," Sam said without bothering to look up from his reading. He was used to his brother's driving.

"Tell that to the people in the hospital. Or the kid that died last week. Or that guy the month before."

"Yeah, okay, sorry," Sam said contritely.

Dean grunted. He actually wasn't rushing more than usual, he just couldn't stand the idiot drivers who seemed to follow them everywhere. "So where are we going to start?" he asked.

Glancing through his notes, Sam reported, "Two more people have come down with a mysterious 'spotted illness' that doctors can't find the cause of or cure for. The previous patients died, usually within twenty-four hours of the first diagnosis. And they all reported feeling fine, up until they keeled over. None of the autopsies have revealed a cause of death."

"You think it's some kind of spell?"

"I don't know," Sam answered. "Sounds likely. Or a curse." He flipped another page. "The only thing all the victims have in common is they all visited Fraser State Park before their illness."

"Uh-huh." Dean glanced at the "Welcome" sign as they entered the town adjacent to the recreational area in question. "So what'll it be: hospital or park?"

A slight pause while Sam considered it. "Hospital. No telling how big the park is. If we could narrow it down…"

"Hospital it is."

~*~*~*~

"I'm sorry, but Melissa Norridge passed away this morning," the nurse explained. "Were you relatives?"

"Actually," Dean jumped in, "we're cousins of Daniel Valeti. We were hoping they'd come up with something to help her and him." The lies flowed easily.

The nurse's face softened. "Oh, of course. I'm sorry. We're doing all we can, but—"

"We understand," Sam said. "Could you tell us Daniel's room number? We'd like to see him before…." He trailed off, flashing a sad smile.

Dean hid his admiration for his brother. Damn, that boy could emote. And the nurse was eating it up.

"He's in 303."

"Thank you."

The Winchesters walked down the hall to the elevators, getting off on the third floor. After a quick check to see if other "grieving relatives" were nearby, they walked into Daniel's room.

The twenty-something lay back against his pillows, staring out the window. His face and arms were covered with large red blotches. He gripped the blanket tightly in his hands, releasing it when they began to shake with the effort.

Sam took the lead. "Daniel?"

"Yeah?" Daniel looked over. Even the whites of his eyes had turned scarlet.

"I'm Sam; this is Dean. We were wondering if we could ask you some questions?"

Daniel sighed. "Sure, but I doubt I can help you."

"We're actually hoping to help you," Dean said.

Sam took the chair next to Daniel's bed. "Can you tell us where you were before this started?"

"Melissa and I went to the State Park to walk around, look at the plants. They just opened a new section a couple months back. She loves…" Daniel stopped and swallowed hard. "…loved it out there."

"Anything unusual or strange happen?" Sam prodded after a moment.

"No, not really." Daniel paused. "I mean, it got cold for a second, but we figured the sun had gone behind a cloud or something."

The brothers exchanged a look.

Dean asked, "Where was this exactly?"

"Just north of the old well, past the benches."

"Thanks, Daniel," Sam said. "We're sorry about Melissa."

"Yeah, so am I." Daniel wiped his eyes. "So…just how are you going to help me?"

"We're going to figure out what did this to you and stop it," Dean declared.

"There's no time," Daniel whispered, turning back to the window. "No time."

Dean jerked his head at Sam and they left the room. "Looks like we need to go to the park."

~*~*~*~

Sam carried the EMF detector.

Dean carried the shotgun concealed under his jacket, his handgun tucked into his waistband, and his knife in his boot. He wasn't taking any chances.

A map from the ranger showed them where to go. Twenty minutes and a few curses later, the two stumbled into the clearing. A stone well sat at the far end, wooden benches spaced evenly around the circle.

"That must be them." Sam pointed.

Dean nodded. "Yep."

They checked for civilians before Dean drew his shotgun. Then they walked forward cautiously, passing between the benches, Dean scanning the area for any sign of trouble. All he saw was an ordinary park, trees, leaves, dirt. Boring. The EMF detector remained silent.

Looking around the area, the brothers spread out slightly as they circled. Dean worked his way through a small copse of trees and back. "Anything?" he called.

Sam glanced up from the detector, and his eyes opened wide.

Just as Sam's mouth shouted a warning, Dean felt an icy touch on the back of his neck. He dropped to the ground, bringing the shotgun to bear. But there was nothing.

Sam's feet pounded as he closed the distance in an instant. He slid to his brother's side. "Are you okay?" he panted.

"Yeah, dude, I'm fine." Dean stood, shaking off Sam's offer of assistance. "What was that about?"

"I saw a Native American."

"Say what?"

"He was behind you. He reached out, touched you, then disappeared."

"Huh." Dean nodded. "Should I start the countdown?"

"That's not funny," Sam snapped. "We've got to figure this out."

"I'm ready to hear the plan, General."

"We do what we do best."

"Burn shit down?" Dean asked hopefully.

"Look stuff up," Sam said.

Dean's face fell.

~*~*~*~

"Okay." Sam pushed away from the laptop. "From his dress, I've narrowed down the apparition to the Chippewa Tribe, which makes sense for this location. Well, we know the early settlers brought diseases to this country. Maybe the rash is hearkening back to a plague that killed some of their tribe?" He looked at Dean and frowned.

"Don't even start, Sam." Dean had already seen the crimson spots appearing on his face when he went to the bathroom. "What else you got?"

Sam shrugged helplessly. "Um…I think it could be some kind of curse."

"All that work, all that research, and that's all you came up with?" Dean _tsked_. "I'm disappointed in you, Sammy."

"Well, what've you got?" Sam asked defensively.

"I know why I was targeted."

Sam stilled. "Why?"

"I was carrying a weapon. You weren't."

"Yeah, so?"

"I called Daniel before he—" Dean cleared his throat. "Anyway, he admitted to carrying a pocketknife."

"And Melissa?"

"Mace." Dean shrugged. "I'm willing to bet the others had some kind of weapon, too. Maybe Geronimo doesn't want us palefaces making war on his land."

"Nice…and Geronimo was Apache."

"Like it matters. In…" Dean checked his watch. "…nineteen hours, I'm worm food." He ignored Sam's flinch. "Now, is there a way out of this?"

"We already know these types of curses are tough, Dean…I think we need help."

Dean rolled his eyes. "You know he's gonna stop taking our calls pretty soon."

"Then we'd better get the help while we can." Sam picked up his phone and dialed. "Hey, Bobby, it's Sam. Yeah, we got a problem." Sam quickly explained the situation, then listened before protesting, "Come on, man. My legs are long enough, stop yanking on them."

Sam's tone grabbed Dean's attention. He watched his brother's expression change from shock to incredulity.

"Seriously?" Now a bit of pink began to creep up Sam's neck and face.

Oh, this had to be good.

Sam grabbed a pen and paper, and started scribbling notes. "No, no, we're on a deadline. I'll meet you." He grabbed a map and spread it out. "How's St. Paul? Okay, I'll see you there." He hung up the phone and smiled wanly at Dean.

Leaning back against the headboard, Dean folded his hands over his stomach. "Care to share with the class?"

"I, uh, have to go meet Bobby."

"Pray tell."

"He has to show me something."

"Something that will cure this?" Dean waved at his inflamed skin.

"He says it should."

"Well, all right, let's go."

"No, you have to stay here."

"Screw that."

Sam held up the notes he'd taken. "He gave me a way to get rid of the spirit in the park. Since you're already…cursed, you can do the rite without any further danger. I think we have everything we need in the trunk." He ran his hand through his hair. "We have to keep this from happening to anyone else."

"That we do." Dean nodded. "Okay, tell me what to do."

~*~*~*~

Dean mixed the ingredients together and performed the incantation. Hopefully, Geronimo was gone for good. Now he just had to wait for his brother to return with the cure.

Dean returned to the motel.

Walking to the bathroom, he looked at his reflection again. It wasn't getting any better. In fact, his eyes were developing a decidedly red tint to them. This fucking curse was spoiling his pretty face.

He jumped as the motel room door slammed against the wall.

"Dean? Dean!"

"In here, dude."

Sam appeared at the door. Once he saw Dean, he gave a relieved smile.

Dean would've liked to rag on him for it—it wasn't as though Sam hadn't called every half-hour to make sure he was all right—but he would feel the same in Sam's place. Knowing and _knowing_ are two different things.

"You got it?" Dean asked casually, as if he hadn't been contemplating his own demise for the past several hours.

"Yeah." Sam blushed again.

Dean waited. Finally, "So?"

"Go sit on the bed."

Making a face, Dean did as Sam asked.

"Now close your eyes."

"What?"

"You heard me; close 'em."

Dean huffed. "Fine." He closed his eyes. He heard Sam moving around, and then strange thumps reached his ears. He had to look.

Opening his eyes, Dean was greeted with the sight of his brother flapping his arms, swishing his hips, and stomping around.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Sam froze mid-stomp, arms suspended in the air. "Didn't I tell you to close your eyes?"

"You never said to keep them closed," Dean countered.

Sam's arms dropped and he turned to face Dean. "I hate you so much."

"'Fess up, Sammy."

"It's a traditional Chippewa healing dance. It's what'll keep you from a coffin."

"Is it worth it?" Dean asked, grinning widely.

"I'm asking myself that very same question."

"Sam, you wound me. Please…continue saving my life." Dean waved a hand magnanimously.

Sam closed _his_ eyes this time. Red-faced, he started the dance over, to the rapt and unwavering audience of his big brother. Who loved every minute of it.

And managed to capture the event for posterity—and blackmail—via his camera phone.

Once he was finished, Sam dropped on the bed, face down.

"You know I'm never going to let you live this down," Dean announced.

Sam sighed. "Yes, I know."

"Okay."

"But you'll be alive to annoy me, so I still win."

That shut Dean up.

But not for long

~*~*~*~

Driving out of town the next day, they passed the park. Dean shot it a nasty look. "Saved by the Macarena? Dude, next time? Let me die."

"Deal."

Although, Dean admitted, he did like looking in the mirror this morning at his clean, unblemished face. And he was sure the ladies would appreciate it as well. He'd have to test it in the next town they stopped at. Make sure he hadn't lost any charm from the curse. Luckily, he had loads to spare.

Later that day, Dean realized maybe he'd gone too far. After all, Sam had saved his life. How did he repay him? Suggesting Sam sign up for the next "Dancing with the Stars." Commenting—repeatedly—how fabulous Sam's moves had been and offering to drop him off at the next dance hall. Oh, and showing the plethora of pictures he'd saved on his phone to the hot blonde at the last gas station stop.

But now his brother had been pouting for over an hour and it was getting on Dean's nerves. He reached over and flicked off the music.

"Are you still brooding?"

"I'm not brooding," Sam insisted, brooding.

"Wallowing, then."

"Not that, either. I'm fine."

"Oh, yeah, you're just tip-toeing through those tulips, aren't you?"

"Dean, if I have to punch you to shut you up, I will. I still haven't cashed that rain check."

"Come on, Sam. You saved me by making yourself look like an ass. I'm grateful."

Sam finally looked over. "So you thought my dance was pretty damn funny."

Dean chuckled just thinking about it. "Yep."

"Then you should've been there when Bobby taught it to me."


End file.
